


Zugzwang

by setos_puppy



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotions, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Series, Will and Hannibal are in prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setos_puppy/pseuds/setos_puppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alana loathed Thursdays.  </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>A look at days attempting to manage Hannibal and Will in the BSHCI.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zugzwang

**Author's Note:**

> Fic witten for bluberryjelly on tumblr for the HannigramHolidayExchange

Alana loathed Thursdays.

The third Thursday of every month, barring illness, holiday or disaster, was the day that Jack Crawford came in for his reports on Hannibal and Will. He’d sit in her office, read over the reports, the transcripts of all the recorded audio between the two men, anyone who had visited, and watch them in their conjoined cells for a few hours, before replacing his hat on his head and walking out of her office with a curt nod as if everything was business as usual.

But nothing with Hannibal and Will was business as usual.

It never had been.

Now that they had been caught a second time, after nearly two years on the lam, almost six months in isolation in BSHCI, business was even further from usual.

Alana had expected Hannibal to be a problem, the quiet, sedate kind of problem he’d been before. She hadn’t been expecting Will.

They’d been caught in Alaska, in a small cabin out in the middle of nowhere, in a place where people often go missing due to harsh weather and hostile wildlife. Married in a private ceremony by a Justice of the Peace who had no doubt been well paid. They had three dogs, a purebred Japanese Spitz, a retired former guard dog that they seemed to have turned into a hunting dog that was a vicious mix between a Pinscher and Bull Terrier, and Hannibal’s pride and joy, a tiny, toy Havanese retired showdog. They’d been caught when a sporting group came across the cabin and one of them recognized Hannibal and had called for aid on a satellite phone. 

Their capture and conviction had been quick, but their imprisonment had been anything but painless. Hannibal had been returned to his former cell, the pride of the hospital, its showpiece. Will, on the other hand, who had been silent since the moment of his capture, had been granted leniency in small amounts, and put in where he’d been placed long ago. 

It had been a mistake. 

Everyone had thought it had been a kind of capture bonding further exacerbated by Will’s empathy. Like before, with Randall Tier. Hannibal, of course, hadn’t attempted to correct their ignorance, instead he waited calmly for the day to arrive when Will proved them all wrong.

It had happened on a Thursday six months ago and was the prompting of Jack’s monthly visits, an entire overhaul of the staffing and the containment of their two most notorious, and in love, prisoners.

During a routine cell check, with his hands and arms shackled as he waited outside of his cell, Will took the opportunity of their foolishness to not bind his hungry, vicious mouth. He sprang, teeth gnashing and catching the cheek of the poor, unsuspecting guard to his left. He’d snatched the skin below the eye, rending it free with a snap of his jaws and a rough shake of his head, ripping the skin and sinew free and popping the man’s eye from the socket like a pill from a blister pack. As the man screamed and flailed and the others stood in frozen, abject horror, Will swallowed his mouthful and threw himself against his prey, mouth wide for more. 

Once they’d wrenched him free, Will had severed the optic nerve of the damaged, free-hanging eye- which he’d popped smugly between his teeth like a grape. Licking his lips of blood and ocular fluid.

After being restrained fully, tasered and tranquilized, he’d been placed in isolation and watched, eyes dark, pulse having never risen above 85, as Alana watched him from the other side of the glass. Taking in the dried blood on his face, matted into his hair, down his front, and his serenity.

“What has he done to you?”

Will snorted, reclined against the contraption they’d strapped him to, tipped his head up to the ceiling as his breath fogged the plastic of the old mask, now slightly chafing at the edges, placed around his face. 

“He never did anything, Alana. That’s the point. Unlike you and Jack who poked and prodded, who pushed and pushed and pushed, who abandoned me here once before, who dragged me back into the shit when I’d finally gotten myself out of it... Hannibal just let me be.”

The quiet ‘oh’ that left Alana was probably never meant to be uttered but it had made Will smirk at the notion. Of her finally understanding. He tilted his head back to look at her, at the sight of her trying to be Hannibal and Chilton - poor Frederick, off in some sunny place somewhere where they heat no doubt itched his appropriated skin - in her cigarette pants and blouse. Hand clutching the edge of her walking stick she still needed in spite of her claims. 

“I promise to be a good boy if you let us stay together.”

So, accommodations had been made. They weren’t in the same cell, but both of them shared the spotlight of Alana’s freak show now. In cells that were side by side and of unreasonable size for men of such heinousness. Made of tempered, nigh-impervious plastics. Monitored 24/7 by camera and audio and posted guard. 

They were oft requested for interviews and to be goggled at like some sort of zoo animals, but Alana, Jack, and the two men, refused save for a very select few. The two, in spite of it all, were writing a book together, and thus had weekly visits from an agent who clearly was as amoral as them and had no qualms about the horrors he’d be publishing. All he saw were the dollar signs. Aside from him, and a few visits from the now well sought after, and highly paid Freddie Lounds, the two were left alone save for Jack and Alana and the few staff who were highly regulated to deliver food, mail, and guard their rooms.

This Thursday, however, was different from the rest. Rather than simply sit in her office, Jack requested to see them in person. Wanting to converse with them. 

When they came into the conjoined cells both men were on their bunks, Will was reclined, hands behind his head, legs crossed at the ankle, while Hannibal was sitting with his back against the wall in lotus position, hands resting between knee and thigh. Both of them had their eyes closed. 

“--Queen’s Knight to C-10.”

Alana was quiet as she settled into her chair and Jack took sentry beside her left, hand resting slightly on the back of her chair, not taking his own offered seat. He removed his hat, watching the two men, who gave no notice to their entry, and then took his seat, crossing his legs at the knee. 

“Chessboards only have eight squares,” Jack finally said by way of greeting.

Hannibal’s brows furrowed and he tipped his chin forward as if surveying a board in front of him. His mouth twitched as blindly, imaginatively, surveyed his pieces. He rose his right hand and pressed out the index finger, as if resting it on a piece, then curled his fingers, taking hold of the piece as he moved it across the board and made a ‘knocking’ motion as he took a piece. 

“Queen’s dark Bishop to J-6, capturing Rook.”

Will uncrossed his legs after a long pause and finally sat up, opening his eyes and turned them to look at their visitors. “Double Chess is 12x16,” he finally replied, countering Jack’s earlier words. “We’ve been playing since Monday.” 

“Whose winning?” Jack queried, looking at the double long cells. They shared a room for questions and visitations. Adding an extra wall to their conjoined cells for visitation had seemed folly. 

Hannibal shrugged elegantly as he shifted his position slightly to indicate he was receptive to their presence but didn’t otherwise move. “Currently Will has the advantage, the victor of the game does not matter.”

“It’s not winning or losing, it’s how you play the game.” Jack parried, brows lifting at the idea. “Seems contrite to me, Hannibal. You’re not a pleasant loser.”

Hannibal flashed a colourless smile in Jack’s direction. “Chess is about experience, you learn more with the play than with the victory.”

“Still psychoanalyzing him after all this time,” Alana reproached, tilting her head to look at the glass, eyes flitting between the two faces.

Will sneered, the expression unsettling on his still handsome, boyish face, twisting the scar on his cheek into a garish twist. “Don’t think you can understand the meaning behind what we do, Alana. You’ve tried before and failed. Many a time, in fact.” He stood and crossed to the front glass panel and leaned against it, adopting a casual demeanor without pause from his displeased one. “Why are you here, Jack? Come to feed the animals? Shake the cages? Pretend you’re now above all this?”

Hannibal tutted softly and stood up as well, smoothing his hands down the jumpsuit as he approached the glass, hands linked behind his back as he observed his audience like a scholar at a podium. He smiled, wide, amused, showing the vicious points of his eye teeth and looking giddy. “Now, now, Will. Jack’s probably come to deliver us the good news, isn’t he?” He locked his gaze onto Jack, who was glowering in his direction. “When is the happy day, mm? I was certain you would never remarry, after Bella.”

Jack’s teeth ground down and his hands clamped tight to the arms of his chair as he stared at Hannibal, who remained passive and unapologetic in his gleeful mask. “This isn’t about that.”

“A pity,” Hannibal sighed, “I’m sure she’s a lovely woman. I would have enjoyed hosting a celebratory dinner for you both. Still, that circles us back to the question, why are you here?”

Jack stood up and opened the briefcase he’d come in with and pulled out an envelope, it was the generic ones from the BAU and even from the distance Hannibal could see the letterhead on the stationery. It wasn’t a surprise considering that all of the mail he or Will got was opened and examined. 

Jack turned the envelope over in his hands as he watched Hannibal, curious and slightly smug. “This letter was addressed to you to be delivered to your old office, so it seems this penpal of yours isn’t quite up with the times. Still, the address is shockingly under your name and hasn’t been liquidated by the FBI for whatever reason. Regardless, do you know anyone with the surname Grutas?” Jack asked, holding up the envelope with a flick of his wrist. 

The smug look on Hannibal’s face dropped in an instant and he was inches from the glass, maroon eyes almost black and expression cold though his gaze was tumultuous. “Give me that letter.”

Jack reared back, his own smug, prideful expression falling to something akin to shock and for a brief moment a hint of sorrow. He walked along the cell to the drop box and slid out the drawer and placed the letter inside before slamming the drawer shut. Hannibal all but ran to the drawer and wrenched out the letter, angered that it had been opened and likely read. He ripped it from the offending envelope and unfolded the paper, smoothing his fingers up the crisp folds of the stationery that spoke of high-quality notebook paper. The penmanship was small, imprecise, and looping. Clearly young; feminine. As he stared at the words for a long moment, Hannibal felt as though his heart was speeding up and stopping in the same instant. The scrawl was in Lithuanian and with a deep inhale he could smell the lingering remnants of his homeland clung to the pages. Tall, proud pines, thick, clay and peat rich soil housing barley and rye and freshwater. He gripped the edges of the pages tight, almost enough to rip, but not quite.

 

_Dear Dr. Lecter,_

_You don’t know me, but my name is Asǔra Grutas and I am the grand niece of a man called Vladis Grutas. I am sure that you may want to throw this letter away, and that the reason for writing this letter may be seen as strange and I hope that you will read it and not throw it away right away. Last year as part of a school project I was required to do a family history. I do not know much of my father’s side of the family, but now I know why. My uncle’s uncle is a dark secret. One no one wanted to talk about. I found out with my studying. I found out that my uncle’s uncle was a bad man who hurt you and your family during the time we were under Soviet rule. I do not know the full story because my great uncle is dead, but from what I could learn he was part of the government police and your parents were seen as being against the government and they were imprisoned and died because of him and his friend Kazys Porvik._

_My family does not wish to talk about the dark things in our history, but I am certain that what happened because of my family that you have suffered. I am sorry for that. I can only hope that time has made you better. Christmas is coming up soon, a time for family, and I hope that you have one, or someone, at least, to celebrate with. To light the candles with on Kūčios. My great uncle is dead now. He died just after I was born of a heart attack. I hope that this knowledge brings you peace, though he never was punished for what happened because the times were different then. I have also included aguonų vyniotinis that my grandmother has made. I hope it is still good when you receive it._

_Merry Christmas, Dr. Lecter._

_Sincerely,_

_Asǔra Grutas_

 

Letting out a slow breath, Hannibal carefully folded up the letter along the premade creases and smoothed out any wrinkles he had made before crossing to his bookshelf. Pulling down his copy of The Count of Monte Cristo he tucked the letter inside and replaced the book on the shelf. Walking back to the glass, he schooled his expression and turned his attention back to Jack, though a part of his attention was dedicated to Will, who was still leaned against the glass casually, but his eyes were sharply fixed to Hannibal. 

“The letter says something was included with it.” 

Jack frowned, clearly not pleased with Hannibal’s reaction and then schooled calm response. Hannibal was unsure, and mostly uncaring, if Jack knew of the letter’s contents if it had been translated. There had been no mention of Mischa. Her death had been caused by Grutas’ friend, whom Hannibal had imprisoned and Will had transformed into a firefly. 

“A dessert. We cut it and had it sampled and tested.”

“Of course. And I’m certain it was seen to be harmless. May I have it?”

Jack took a breath and looked to Alana who nodded at him. He reached into the briefcase again and pulled out carefully cut slices of a log wrapped in wax paper. Once more it was delivered to the drop box and Hannibal retrieved it wordlessly. Taking it to his desk and setting it down, examining the rolled log cake sitting on the paper. Traditional at Lithuanian Christmas Eve dinners poppy seed desserts were to be shared with loved ones. Hannibal would share with Will once they were alone and undisturbed.

“Thank you, Jack. Alana.”

Jack stared for a long minute, wondering if he had got what he had come for. After the pause he simply nodded curtly, latched his briefcase and placed his hat on his head.

“See you next month, Jack. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.” Hannibal greeted, returning to his place on his bed.

Will’s eyes flicked over Hannibal’s form and Jack and Alana’s retreated backs. He grinned a bit, impish, and threw out the barb Hannibal no doubt wished to but couldn’t be bothered for. “Give your new bride our best.”

Jack paused in the doorway, hand clenched around his briefcase, before striding out. Alana turned to the two men, who were now back to back through the glass, and huffed, shaking her head and pulled the door closed behind her with a slam.

Through the door, slightly muffled, she could hear Will’s voice.

“Pawn to B-5.”

Alana loathed Thursdays.


End file.
